Liz sighs a little dreamily at her desk, clicking repeat on the video, watching the two most graceful people she's ever seen on skates start their routine for the umpteenth time. She should be working – there's a stack of paperwork by her right elbow that proves it – but she can't stop watching. Every time the man in black dips the woman in red for the final time and the audience explodes in cheers, Liz can't help but want to watch it all over again.

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir are nothing short of incredible.

Liz quickly became obsessed after seeing the pair win a gold medal in ice dancing at the Pyeongchang Olympics. Since then, she has watched what has to be all of their professional performances to date, and she remains in complete awe of their strength, determination, artistry, talent, and partnership. Even at work, she can't help but keep a separate tab open to watch their Moulin Rouge routine whenever the urge strikes.

Which is often.

Liz watches as they perform the opening lift again, a faint smile on her face, her mind wandering back to her middle school years, when she took skating lessons of her own.

She was very athletic and adventurous in her early teens and had begged Sam for sporting lessons of every kind. She never stayed with one sport long but she made a point to try as many as possible.

Once she worked her way through all the normal school sports and found nothing that struck her fancy for more than a few weeks, she asked Sam if she could try something at the local ice rink. Sam, pleased to do whatever he could for his adopted daughter who – at that point anyway – didn't cause him any trouble, obliged and signed her up for ice skating lessons.

Liz started in the beginner lessons, naturally, with all the other children her age but she took quickly to the ice in a way none of the others did. She loved the feeling of racing around the rink as though she were flying, the cold wind ruffling her hair, and the swooping sensation her in chest that came with jumping.

(Her coach told Sam she could be professional material but Liz was simply having too much fun to take it seriously.)

In addition to her normal weekend lessons, Liz went to the rink every day after school and it didn't take her long to advance quickly through the class ranks, soon taking lessons with kids in high school. Sam was completely supportive and proud of her and loved taking her to the rink for practice, sitting in the first row of seats to cheer her on.

However, once Liz started high school and other, less Sam-approved activities caught her attention, she attended fewer and fewer lessons and, before long, she stopped skating altogether. Sam was sad to see her stop - and Liz was sad to give it up, to some extent - but he respected her wish to branch out and do different things with her time as she grew.

Nonetheless, Liz had spent three and a half years of her childhood happy on the ice and that is a cherished time she'll never forget.

(She still has her old skates tucked away in a storage unit, packed in a box marked "kid stuff", covered in a layer of dust and memories.)

Liz shakes her head in faint disbelief and awe as the skaters on her screen move gracefully into the second half of their program, the first few notes of "Come What May" echoing around the rink.

They're so perfect together.

Liz never skated with a partner – she was too shy at that age to work with a boy – and she always preferred to skate alone and free. But watching these two, moving together like two halves of one person, she rather wishes she had. The companionship and reliance they have on one another is incredible, the connection and love almost a visible force between them.

(It's times like these that Liz misses Tom, not that he ever would have been caught dead in an ice skating rink. It's the partnership more than anything that she yearns for. Solitude can be awfully lonely.)

Liz taps her fingers thoughtfully on her desk as Tessa and Scott glide over the ice, tangled up in each other. Perhaps a little skating would make her feel better. It's been years but watching these two is making her crave the burn in her calves that comes with a day of practice, something that simply taking a run can never accomplish. There's no need to unearth her old skates, they wouldn't fit her anyway. She thinks there's a public rink nearby and she could rent a pair there.

(She wonders what Sam would say.)

As Tessa and Scott perform their final twizzle and prepare for their last spectacular lift of the program, the audience is already on their feet. Yes, she'll go skating. This weekend.

(Sam would want her to.)

Liz nods to herself, happy with her decision, and closes the tab after one last look at Tessa and Scott's beaming, triumphant faces, taking their bows for a flawless performance.

She can't wait for this weekend.

Two days later, it is finally Saturday, and Liz wakes early, ridiculously excited. She eats a quick breakfast, in a hurry to get going. She finds the rink with no problem, following directions on her phone and parking up front. She grabs the extra sweater she threw on the car seat next to her, glad she remembered the intense chill of the air inside the rink.

(Sam always made sure to bundle up her tiny form for practice.)

When Liz gets inside, she sees a group lesson being taught, young children helping each other to stay upright as the teacher talks them through basic motions. Liz smiles, the familiar scene bringing back fond memories.

The teenager slumped in the booth gives her some skates to rent and tells her the lesson will be done within the hour and then she is free to take the ice.

So, Liz finds a spot in the stands to lace up her rentals with a wonderful feeling of nostalgia, listening to the pleasant sound of children chattering and the scrape of blades on ice. She is just cheerfully tying her hair up into a ponytail when her phone begins to vibrate on the bench next to her thigh.

Nick's Pizza.

Liz sighs in frustration. She doesn't care if the president himself is being held hostage. There is no way she is sacrificing her day of ice skating for anything work related.

(Non-work related, however, she may be open to. It is Red, after all.)

Liz accepts the call and puts the phone to her ear.

"Hello, Red, and before you say anything, this had better just be a social call, because I have plans for today and I am not coming into work."

There is a beat of silence during which she takes pleasure in imaging Red's taken aback expression. She grins to herself, pleased to have surprised him for once.

"Well, good afternoon to you too, Lizzie," he says, a little petulantly but not without a hint of amusement. "Not to worry, this is merely a social call, though I confess to being curious about these plans of yours."

"Wonderful," chirps Liz. "And you can be as curious as you like. Is there anything in particular I can do for you?"

"Well, you could let me into your apartment, for one thing."

"What?"

"That's where I am now," says Red. "Dembe and I had lunch at this lovely little bistro, the most delicious crab bisque and fruit salad, and I thought you'd like some. Since you're usually home on a Saturday afternoon, I thought I'd try to take advantage of your unfathomable distaste for the midday meal and bring you lunch."

Liz blinks in surprise.

"Well, that's very kind of you and it does sound delicious but, as it happens, I'm not available this Saturday," Liz says, feeling truly regretful now, watching the young skaters try slow spins in pairs while she presses the phone to her ear. Red really does the sweetest things for her.

"But, Lizzie, the bisque will get cold," says Red, sounding terribly put out. "And cold bisque is such a tragedy, really."

"Red," sighs Lizzie. "I'm not driving all the way home to unlock my door for you. I'm sure either you or Dembe can conjure up some lockpicks and make yourself at home. Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't do that to begin with. And if this bisque is really that great, put it in my fridge and I'll heat it up for dinner tonight."

"Oh, thank you for your slightly ill-timed permission, Lizzie, I feel much less guilty about standing in your living room right now," Red quips and Liz rolls her eyes. She knew it.

"But it's not only the bisque that's bothering me, Lizzie, though I'll put that and the fruit salad in the fridge for you."

"Thank you. What is it then?"

"I was rather looking forward to the pleasure of your company, as well," he says in that deeper tone of voice that never fails to make her cheeks heat in a blush.

"That's very sweet of you, Red," Liz says quietly, watching the young skaters start their cool down laps.

"So, there's no way I can see you today?" Red presses gently but with an insistence she can't help but find flattering.

Liz sighs again as the skaters file one by one off the ice, which is now free for her to use. Would it really be the worst thing to have Red join her at the rink? Knowing him, he's probably done a routine with the Countess of Lexington or something ridiculous and, who knows, it might be nice to have a partner for once.

(Her heart leaps in her chest at the thought of her and Red doing the intimate moves in Tessa and Scott's routine. What a silly thought.

But intriguing.)

"All right, then," Liz sighs, trying not to sound too eager. "If you're so desperate to see me, you can meet me at the ice skating rink about twenty minutes from my apartment building. Do you think you can find it?"

"The ice skating rink?" Red repeats, sounding about as surprised as she expected him to be but recovering quickly. "Certainly, I'll be there in twenty minutes then."

"Great, I'll see you soon," she says happily. "Oh, and Red?"

"Yes?"

"What's your shoe size?"

Liz is too excited to wait for Red before she takes the ice. She makes her way past all the children removing their skates and hobbles to the door onto the ice, taking off her skate guards and leaving them on the boards before putting one tentative blade on the ice. She keeps her balance just fine, despite how long it's been.

(It seems that ice skating is rather like riding a bike: you don't forget how to do it.)

She takes her time warming up, doing some easy stretches as she skates slowly along, letting her body remember the feelings and moves she learned all those years ago. She does several laps around the rink, slowly gaining speed and confidence, before trying to throw her weight off the ice in a beginner-style jump. She falls once or twice but that only makes her get up and try again, persistent and determined in the reckless way she's always been.

(Even as a shy little girl in too-big skates.)

Before long, she's doing simple jumps not unlike the ones she used to do in her old routines. She was never a pro, of course, so the complicated jumps are completely out of her league, especially with how old she is now, but she's always enjoyed step sequences more than jumps anyway. She tries a few of those as she goes, reveling in the stretch and pull of her leg muscles.

(She's missed this more than she realized.)

By the time Red and Dembe get there, the rink is nearly empty, all the Saturday morning lessons concluded and practice skaters either gone or getting ready to leave. The bored teenager running the place is playing on his phone in the booth, paying Liz no mind and that's the way she likes it. She's got her headphones in and the Moulin Rouge soundtrack playing, making up her own choreography as she skates along, pretending she's Tessa being spun around by her very own Scott, and thoroughly enjoying herself.

Liz is so involved with her little improvisatory routine, that she doesn't notice Red at first, high up in the stands, watching her. It's only when she happens to glance upwards, coming out of a twizzle, that she sees him standing there, Dembe sitting reclined on the bench next to him. Liz wonders how long he's been watching her skate and her chest warms at the thought.

(She can't decide if she feels self-conscious or proud. How odd.)

Liz waves in greeting, pulling her headphones out and putting them into the pocket of her sweater, skating towards the boards when she sees Red making his way down the steps to meet her.

She skids to a graceful stop by the door just as he gets there, feeling a little out of breath from the exercise but wonderfully energized.

"Hey," she says to him breathlessly.

Red simply looks at her for a moment and Liz instinctively reaches up to pat her hair a little awkwardly.

"Um, what's up?"

"I didn't know you could skate," he says quietly after another moment of silence, making it sound like a bit of a revelation.

"Oh, yeah," Liz says, shrugging carelessly. "Sam let me take lessons when I was a kid. I stopped after a few years but I was thinking about it recently and, I don't know, I wanted to see if I still could."

Red smiles warmly at her. "Well, you move beautifully," he murmurs to her and Liz has a sneaking suspicion that he isn't just referring to her skating.

(The thought makes her heart flutter in her chest.)

"Thank you," she murmurs back, looking sheepishly down at her laces. "Well, would you like to join me?" she inquires.

She looks back up in time to see Red blink in surprise. "Join you?" he repeats a little dumbly.

"Yeah," says Liz easily. "Why do you think I asked for your shoe size? I rented you a pair of skates, they're up there next to my bag."

Red still looks surprised and now a little skeptical, glancing down at her own intricate laces.

"Wait, don't tell me you've never skated before," says Liz, a little incredulously.

"Of course, I haven't," says Red, frowning in confusion. "What makes you think that I have?"

"I don't know," says Liz, a little defensively. "You've done everything else, haven't you? I just assumed, I guess."

"Well, as flattering as that is, Lizzie, the fact remains that I've never skated before. Surely I'll only be a hinderance to you."

"Oh, don't be silly, I can teach you! Well, the basics, anyway. Unless you don't want to," she finishes uncertainly.

But she saw Red's face light up at the mention of teaching and he hurries to reassure her. "Oh no, I'd love to, if you're willing to put up with me. And who knows, I might actually be okay. I've got good sea legs, after all," he adds with a little smirk.

Liz lets out a laugh and nods, stepping off the ice to help him put on his skates.

(It's a long process with a lot of hand-touching and warm cheeks but they manage.)

By the time they get him all laced up and ready to go, Dembe steadfastly refusing the offer of joining them ("Thank you, Elizabeth, but I much prefer to stay on dry land."), Liz is itching to get back on the ice, Moulin Rouge echoing in her head. She helps Red down the stairs in his skate guards and leaves him holding onto the boards while she quickly takes off her own guards and steps back onto the ice.

"Okay, ready, Red?" she asks cheerfully.

"I think so," he says tentatively, leaning on the boards while he tries to copy her and unsteadily takes his guards off.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall," Liz says kindly, reaching out a hand for him to hold as he carefully extends his right foot out and places his blade on the ice. She helps him out as he grips her forearms, getting used to the feeling of ice under his feet.

"How's that?" she asks him, watching at his face closely.

"Interesting," he says, staring fixedly at his own feet as they slip and slide a little on the ice. "Different, certainly, but not unpleasant, I think, once I get the hang of it."

"That's great!" Liz encourages him, smiling at the sight of him biting his lip in concentration. "Wanna try moving a little bit?"

"Moving?" he repeats, looking up at her quickly, panic evident on his face.

"Don't worry," she laughs. "I'll do all the work, just hold on!"

Red tightens his death grip on her forearms as she begins to slowly skate backwards, towing him gently around the edge of the rink.

"Ha!" Red barks after a moment, laughing as they move together. "This is fun!"

Liz can't help but laugh with him.

(He really is adorable.)

She talks him through the most basic motion of skating forward and he gets the hang of it quickly. He has a good sense of balance and, he was right, he does have good sea legs.

(She always manages to forget he was in the navy, somehow.)

Soon, Red is skating slowly on his own, Liz staying close to his left side, holding his hand for safety.

"So, do you think you can skate on your own now?" she suggests happily.

"Oh, I don't know, Lizzie," Red says quickly, frowning, earnest doubt on his face. "I've covered a lot in a very short amount of time, wouldn't you say? I think we should take it slow, don't you? Perhaps this is enough for one day. Could we just skate around together for a bit?"

Liz smiles next to him. Somehow, that sounds like a wonderful idea.

"Sure, Red."

She feels him relax next to her, his hand readjusting to hold hers more snugly, and he scoots a little closer to her on the ice.

(And if Liz had to guess, she would say that this isn't completely about the skating for Red. She thinks it has something to do with her and him and that's something to think about.)

She glances at Red out of the corner of her eye as they make another lap around the rink, watching him look carefully at her skates and try to copy her movements, his tongue peeking out from in between his lips as he focuses.

(He's cute.)

Liz smiles and squeezes his hand a little, making him look up from their skates to smile back at her.

They may not be Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir but that's okay because they're Red and Liz and they're still skating around some things in between them and, for now, that's just fine.

Liz knows they'll get there.

Together.